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Mr. Freeze hunts after the equipment needed to save his wife.

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Story

John Blake spent all his Tuesday afternoons the same. A nice, long drive through Gotham, not a patrol, but always ready for harm to him or the people of Gotham City. The streets were littered, not only from the trash of local bystanders, but the filth and  blood of Gotham. John knew this, and it ached him to his soul.


The drive began to grow erie, so John had began to drive back to his home away from home: The Wayne Manor. His travels there became more frequent as days began to progress. He arrived shortly, and proceeded to the front door. He entered and was greeted by Alfred Pennyworth. The two made small-talk as they cruised down the hallway; Alfred asking about John’s day and John giving him bland answers. As they continued, the two were encountered by two speeding children being chased after Ronald Godfrey, one of the volunteers at the orphanage. His face wasn’t a day over 25, yet he spent everyday with the orphans, staying until dawn, even.

“Oh! Mr. Blake, I didn’t see you there,” stated Ronald as he almost bumped into John and Alfred.

“Ah, Ronald, right? Glad to see you’re still helping out with the orphans. I am very pleased,” John complemented, Alfred nodded in agreement and added:

“Mister Bruce has also been pleased with your efforts,”

“He has? That’s great, I mean, I love doing this and the fact that the Bruce Wayne is proud of my work. Wow.” Ronald walked off, dazed with excitement. Alfred and John continued until they exited the back door. They stood and looked off into the distance, not saying a word. After many minutes, John finally asked, “Where’s Bruce?”

“Last time I heard, he was at the Wayne Industries building, settling some business,” Alfred answered.

“Of course.”


Gotham City was quiet that night, something that is almost too rare. In the depths of  Uptown Gotham, in a well-furnished home sat the shell of what was left of a once great man, hollowed by a recent trauma. The man was surrounded not only by his sorrow, but what seemed like an endless lump of alcohol beverages. His head, lifeless and stone-cold, rested on a table in a house that was covered with more filth than the streets of Gotham itself. Crumpled papers, emptied bottles of vodka and pictures of a happy man and woman. But like the heart of the man who laid motionless on the table, the frames were shattered, making the faces almost unidentifiable.

The man snapped awake at the sound of a ringing phone. His eyes were bloodshot, wrinkles on his face gave away his age. He slowly stood up, but with little to no ease; he fell over many times. He finally managed to keep his feet and stumble over to the phone.

“.......... speaking,” the man stated as he put the phone to his ear, his speech so slurred that his sentence was barely understandable.

“Is this Dr. Victor Fries?” the man on the other end of the call asked.

“This is he. Who wants..... wants to know?”

“Warren White, Victor,” the other man had said.

“Warren? Is that really you? It’s been so... so long...” Victor’s voice began to drift off; he was faint, could collapse any moment.

“Victor, it’s so nice to hear your voice again. It has been too long.” Warren spoke with slight cheer in his voice, “I just wanted to call to express my grievance for the deplorable catastrophe. Your wife, she’ll make it.”

“How... how did you know?” Victor enquired, a little more focused.

“I know these things, my old friend. But what has it been, seventeen years since we’ve last spoke?”

“Yeah, just about...”

“Listen, I know you’re down in the dumps, but I’d think you need some cheering up. Meet me at Jack’s Cafe for lunch tomorrow, 11:30, my treat. Eh?” Warren asked.

“I don’t know, Warren. It doesn’t feel right without Nora.” Victor responded.

“C’mon, Vickie! You need some sunshine, please?” Warren pleaded.

“I guess-”

“GREAT!” he interrupted, “I’ll see you tomorrow! And, lay off the vodka.” Warren had hung up. Victor thought for a few moments, how did he know about my drinking. But he spent little-to-no-time considering how he knew. Victor began to wobble into his bedroom and continued the sleep he had been interrupted from.


At 11:35 the next morning, Victor Fries finally rolled out of bed. He knew he had somewhere to be. He also knew that he was very late for lunch with Warren. But at this point of his life, with his wife’s life just barely hanging on the cliff of living, he didn’t care much for anything; his appearance among that. Victor had thrown on a an old shirt and and wrinkled dress pants: Dressed for success. He picked up the car keys from the cluttered table and walked out the door. He drove a 2001 Honda, hadn’t been washed in months, but it wasn’t the dirt that gave it away. Victor got in the car and took a deep breath. He then put the key and started the ignition. The car growled to life, but then began smooth out. It pulled out of the driveway and started along the road. It was obvious that Victor had been drinking, and the signs were almost as bad has his bed. His swollen eyes, the slouching; the hangover from last night hadn’t worn off. It took him a good fifteen minutes to reach the restaurant, Warren could be seen drinking water from the window.

Victor got out of the car and stumbled into the establishment, walking right past the hostess. He sat in the chair across from Warren who had been reading the newspaper. He was dressed in a fine suit (anything looked better than Victor, at the moment) and had nicely trimmed moustache; like ‘20s gangster, he looked.

“Ah, glad you could make it, Victor,” Warren greeted.

“Yeah, yeah, Warren. I know you, you never just want ‘cheer up’ people. What do you want?” Victor came out strong, not like he had been drinking. This was a man who graduated from Yale and earned his doctorate. No amount of drinking could change that.

“I’m hurt, Vickie. Really, I am. I know you’re having a hard time and I felt as you needed a friend.”

“Nice try, Warren. Back in the day, all you did was try to swindle others. I wasn’t blind, don’t think I am now.” Victor eyed him hard, trying to force the truth he thought existed.

“Whatever, Vic. I hope you don’t mind, I’ll have another joining us today. A new friend of mine,” Warren stated.

“See, that is the exact bull shit that I was talking about!” Victor’s voice raised immensely, the entire restaurant looking towards their direction.

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